Satern, Fir of Febla: 33 Xiven

“Help me pull him!” If it weren’t for the scratchy feeling in his throat, Kayin wouldn’t have known that he was the one screaming. Sharp bits of stone cut into his knees when he fell to the pavement. Digging furiously at the debris, Kayin uncovered Dhekk’s head, bloody and unmoving.

Someone already began to pull Dhekk out of the rubble by his feet; Kayin tried to pry him further away with his arm to get him out sooner. It was difficult to ignore the bloody debris on the cobblestone. Even more difficult to ignore were the intrusive thoughts—was Dhekk another person he met, only for him to die?

“His—his backpack!” Kayin cried as he clawed for the man’s shoulders. The bedroll fell off easily enough, but digging through all of this stuff was torture. Clothes, leather, rope—finally an in-tact health potion Kayin had made earlier. He ignored the throbbing from his finger, the wetness proving that a different bottle had broken in the pack. He uncorked the bottle he held in his hands and immediately shoved the open end into Dhekk’s mouth, using his other hand to force the man’s lips into a pucker to absorb at least some of it.

“Come on,” he murmured as he held the man’s head in his hands. Blood stained his hairline, already covered in soot and debris. Even when Dhekk slept, he didn’t look this limp and peaceful. For a moment, Kayin considered that maybe Dhekk wasn’t asleep earlier, that maybe he was just waiting. Now that he saw how calm, how peaceful he could look, Dhekk was almost unrecognizable.

“Let’s pull him,” the teenager from before offered. The blond boy ushered for Beulilly to help him pull Dhekk further away from the settling stones; Kayin still held his head in his lap, scooting every inch the others moved him.

Dhekk remained idle. And while Kayin watched and waited for his eyes to flicker, to blink and return to the regular, angry state they seemed to always rest at, the surviving citizens of Ikan chattered in the background, orienting themselves to the disaster.

Another moment passed, and Dhekk didn’t move.

“Come on,” he urged again, jostling his shoulders. After an entire moment of silence, Kayin finally noticed the very slightest movement of the leather covering Dhekk’s chest. The scored armor twitched. Was that breathing?

The only interruption to Kayin’s panic was the curly haired girl from before, letting out a loud cry.

“Where’s my mama?” she begged with wide, tearful eyes. Kayin stared at her, unbreathing. When she asked this, it prompted all the other kids to ask questions, too.

“What happened?”

“Where’s my sister?”

“Who were those people?”

And Beulilly’s question, “You said the same thing happened to Yatora?”

Their voices felt far away, now. Kayin’s eyes darted from face to face, watching their confusion melt to sorrow. More questions. Wide eyes searching around the destruction for maybe the first time.

“W-where are we? The t-t-temple is supposed to be right th—! Where do I pray?”

The two older people fell silent while the children cried out questions that didn’t have acceptable answers.

The stale soot took all of Kayin’s senses, replaced them with dull, prickling throbbing until the only thing he actually felt was a looming sense of dread. Was this what Yatora looked like? Empty, toppled buildings, splatters of blood on the streets, piles of something shoved into corners. And that smell…. What was that smell? Like a sour sort of leftovers burning in a fire pit. Like someone left their edia in the village fire too long.

Was this what was left of everything he knew? Every child he played with, every adult that yelled at him for running too fast by their hut or for not listening, every neighbor that asked if he had extra food. Guards that warned against going too far into the woods. Castle servants that bowed their heads or offered him help, teachers and tutors that taught him how to sound out words in books that were now nothing but piles of ash. Dania. Tailer. Sithie. Enna, Liree, Tisa, Dopi, Arill, Proc, Enil, Useki, Briat, Yulia and countless other faces that no longer existed, would no longer draw breath or smile again. The words they said were just imperfect memories doomed to join Aunt Aayin’s fading stories. Would he forget their faces, like he was forgetting hers?

“…all that’s left,” murmured Beulilly to Jarde.

“Why?” the little boy asked. His exasperation and angry confusion helped pull Kayin out of his own mind.

Numbly, Kayin’s fingers found the straps of his own backpack. Still poking from underneath the bedroll was the map Dhekk said to give to these survivors, and he handed it to Beulilly.

“What’s that?” she asked, ignoring the questions she couldn’t answer to instead focus on Kayin.

“A map.” When she took it from him, he began to untie the bedroll from the backpack and set it to the side. In this bag were simple herbs, dried food, a sheathed carving dagger, ropes, and a few other small and miscellaneous things that would make moving in the forest a little easier. He sighed before closing it. For a brief moment, he contemplated rising to his feet, but his legs refused to move, so he instead pushed it toward her and gestured.

“This is for you,” Kayin continued. “You and anyone else that got left behind are supposed to go to Kunnu to meet up with the other survivors.”

“What?” At her question, the children began to settle. The young man from before placed his hands on the shoulders of a couple of the younger kids, as if to encourage them to quiet down and pay attention to what Kayin had to say.

“That’s where the Yatora survivors are going. And I think whoever evacuated here before….”

Beulilly regarded the map with raised brows. She saw the distance, how long it would take to hike all the way up north.

“My mommy is in Kunnu?” asked the little girl from before.

“And my sister?”

“Maybe,” was Kayin’s unhelpful answer. The children didn’t seem to understand how little he knew, and took this as a satisfying response.

Beulilly asked, “B-but why Kunnu? There are other cities.” Kayin didn’t even get to try to respond to her question. She stared, hard, before lowering the map. “Because they wouldn’t take us,” she answered for herself. “They’re allied to Emperor Xiven.”

“But we didn’t do anything!” cried Jarde. He threw down his little fists in an anger that Kayin wished he could bring to surface. But at the moment, too much anxiety brought his hands to shake when Kayin pushed the backpack to Jarde.

“I still haven’t done anything yet,” Kayin said to him, “and he sent an assassin after me a few years ago. I don’t think this guy cares.” Saying it out loud was absolutely insane. The collective silence from the small group of refugees just made this awful moment awkward. “Um, take this bag. This is for you.” The eldest boy broke from the group and, tentatively, like a wild animal accepting an offering, picked up the backpack to put on his shoulders.

The weight of Beulilly’s stares made it difficult to keep his head up, so Kayin returned to staring at Dhekk. He was breathing, certainly.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. That was a loaded question.

“Wait for him to wake up,” he answered.

“What if he doesn’t?” Beulilly might as well punched Kayin in the gut. He hardly knew Dhekk, didn’t even really like him that much. But the man had direction, was at least…around. He spoke of the future so certainly, moreso than Tidesa even did. This vague idea of training toward a future Kayin never picked was certainly better than not having a future at all.

Kayin nearly replied with I don’t know. But he did know. He had a checklist. A list of places that would or wouldn’t agree that Xiven needed to be overthrown. He had a directive, that he would—apparently, at some point—kill this emperor. It didn’t sound right, but what else was there? He wouldn’t be allowed peace, not while Xiven thought he was alive.

“I have…. I have a To Do list,” Kayin said quietly. With pursed lips, he looked up. “You should get going. It’s a long trek and the food in there won’t last you the whole way.”

“We’re gunna starve?” asked Jarde. Kayin shook his head.

“No, but you’ll get hungry. Just eat the small—the small brown mushrooms.” He held up a space between his thumb and forefinger. “Not the big ones. Eat those and the blue berries that have red juice in them. Then maybe Beulilly and…he…can hunt for edia for you to eat.”

“Edia?” the curly haired girl echoed with wide eyes. “People eat edia?” Kayin just stared at her, uncertain of how to respond.

“Um,” began Beulilly, “thank you, I guess. Thank you for helping us.”

He nodded to her. “See Tidesa in Kunnu. She’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Kayin.” Holding the map tightly in her hands, Beulilly looked to the north where, through the clouds of dust and light levels of smoke. One by one, the children thanked Kayin and the “sleepy man” beside him, then they filed away to follow their two young leaders.

With nothing else to do while Rinesa retreated behind the tree line, Kayin unfurled the bedrolls, stuffed Dhekk onto one like a roasted gerrie, and used the open end of the roll to drag him closer to the forest. A couple ripping sounds let him know he tore the woolen cocoon, but when the ground softened to dead leaves and fat mushrooms, he paused and settled Dhekk’s arms into the roll. There was no protecting the man’s face from the gentle and cold breeze drifting from Ichaemi, but it was better than leaving him exposed to the elements.

Dhekk muttered in his slumber, but never opened his eyes or said any actual words. Kayin took Dhekk’s longsword, pulled the bedroll wrap up to Dhekk’s chin, then tucked it into the man’s collar. He offered the backpack as a pillow for the man, then tucked himself into his own bed roll and leaned against the stalk of the glowing, purple mushroom he’d chosen for them to take shelter under.

The night was silent, with not a soul around to disturb the fallen city of Ikan.

Sunern, Fir of Febla: 33 Xiven

Kayin had never actually slept without any walls protecting him from the wind before. His face stung, first from the leftover soot on his brows, then from the air. He didn’t really sleep. Instead, he waited. The air cleared the more the wind blew.

With his eyes half-open, Kayin watched the rubble in the near distance grow lighter from the emerging rays of the day, Harash, beginning her watch. The sky was pale, but only some tufts of clouds or clumps of leftover smoke remained. Not too far away, a gerrie sang a song.

No matter what happened, who died or lost everything, the day returned. Was that comforting or sad? It was hard to decide.

Just as Kayin drew in a large breath, let his eyelids fall, did a strange scuffle send his blood racing.

Eyes wide open, rising from his seated place, Kayin grabbed Dhekk’s longsword and flung it out of the sheath, holding it with two hands in front of him. Which hand went on the top part of the hilt, again? The non-dominant hand? He never trained with two-handed weapons.

With one leg still in the bedroll, Kayin rested his back against the stalk of the mushroom and pointed the sword in the direction of the sound. Somewhere in the forest to the south, not quite from Ikan, but the outskirts.

“Who’s there?” Kayin called. His throat felt three times larger than it should have, abused by its near constant exposure to smoke. Dhekk groaned, but not enough to prove he was fully conscious. The low branches of a tree maybe a hundred feet away shuffled. “Show yourself!” In response, a subtle shhht. A drawn sword. Kayin kicked out of the bedroll and took a tentative step closer to the sound. In the shade, the form of a person grew a little clearer.

“What happened here?” the stranger asked. A man, nearly as large as Dhekk, just skinnier. It was difficult to make out any distinguishing marks from this far away, with this poor visibility.

“Come closer!” Kayin commanded with another forward step. His hands creaked against the leather hilt of the sword. “Who are you?”

Though the man did step forward, out of the shade of the tree canopy, he did not give an answer.

“Who are you? Did you do this?” This stranger didn’t come from Ikan. He hardly wore any soot, and had the strap of a traveling bag across his chest. Long sleeves, reinforced joints. A vagabond from somewhere else, who just stumbled upon this. Tan, dark brown hair, dark eye bags. Still, he stood with perfect posture and maintained his pose with his sword, leading his steps with one foot. The more the stranger observed Kayin, the more he approached, confident.

Kayin gestured with the longsword. “I said, who are you! Answer me first!”

The man approached to maybe two sword-lengths away, regarding Kayin as if he didn’t say anything in the first place, then glancing quickly to Dhekk’s limp form behind him.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” said the stranger. “And—I’m sorry if this is offensive, but you’re not a threat, either.” Before Kayin could even ask what that meant, he gestured to Kayin. “You’re not holding that right.” The stranger altered his grip on his own sword, took another step and posed with both hands holding his sword. “Hold it up more. Aim the point up more, to your target’s upper chest.” He gestured to his sternum. “So when they run toward you, their weight will—”

“Your swordsmanship is so bad,” interrupted Dhekk, “that some random stranger in the forest is teaching you proper posing.” Kayin snapped his gaze back to the groaning man. He hadn’t noticed him shuffle into a seated position.

“I was in jail!” repeated Kayin with grit teeth. He turned his attention back to the stranger, readjusting himself to properly hold the sword in front of him.

“Jail?” the man echoed with wide eyes. Instead of demonstrating, he took a step back, readying himself with the same perfect pose from before.

Dhekk groaned. “How long are you going to use that excuse?”

“Who are you people?”

“It’s not an excuse!” Kayin huffed, and at the stranger’s defensiveness, decided to lower the sword.

“What are you doing? Put that back up! You don’t know who that guy is!”

“He said he’s not here to hurt us,” Kayin said without turning around. He released the hilt of his longsword with one hand, let it drift to the side as he held up his hand.

“Would you believe him if he said he was Queen of the Archipelago of Electran? Give me that.” Kayin didn’t resist when Dhekk stomped forward to rip the sword out of Kayin’s hand. When Dhekk demonstrated the actual form that a longsword demanded, the stranger took two more steps back.

“Who are you people?” the stranger asked again, his weapon steady. “Did you do this? Where is everyone?”

“We didn’t do this,” Kayin decided to answer. “We were helping the survivors.” It was subtle, but the man’s sword relaxed just a bit. In all the excitement, between try dry blood on Dhekk’s temple and the stranger’s utter lack of aggression, Kayin held up both hands and took a step closer.

“My name is Kayin,” he said carefully.

“You really are an idiot,” Dhekk muttered.

“And this is Dhekk.”

“Do not—”

“I’m Karsarath,” interrupted the stranger. “I’m going to put my sword away.” He stared at Dhekk, one hand reaching for the sheath on his hip while the other twisted his blade to stow.

“See?” Dhekk grumbled. “Even he’s using a fake name.”

Hushing his sword into place, Karsarath furrowed his brows. “I’m not using a fake name.”

“Karsarath,” Kayin said, “Dhekk and I came to Ikan because we heard about the attack, and came to help the survivors. And—Dhekk, seriously?” He waved at his companion to lower his sword. “We’re not enemies. Put that down.”

“You don’t know we’re not enemies.”

Kayin groaned and threw his hands to his side, then turned back to the stranger. “Karsarath, are you an assassin sent from Emperor Xiven to kill me?” Now, the man raised his hands as if he was being taken hostage, and took another step back.

“I—I don’t know who you are, I was just passing through—I don’t know why the emperor would send an assassin after you, but I’m not an assassin—”

“I don’t either,” Kayin said, now addressing this to Dhekk. “See? Put it down.”

“Karrie, if that even is your name,” Dhekk started.

“It’s very clearly not!” Karsarath protested.

He continued, “why do you know so much about swords if you’re not an assassin? And why are you here, now? You expect me to believe this is a coincidence?”

“I’m an athlete!” Karsarath blurted when Dhekk stepped forward. “I just train people for tournaments—why are you threatening me?” The man’s bony hand shot back to his sheath to pull out his blade again.

“Dhekk, seriously!” Kayin nudged the man in the shoulder. “Excuse him, he just suffered a clearly traumatic brain injury.” He pulled him back, upsetting Dhekk’s balance until he finally released his stance.

“Do I—no. I don’t even want to know why the emperor would send an assassin after you,” said Karsarath. “How about we just go our separate ways? I never saw you, you never saw me. You can go back to—to your tree, and I’ll just be on my way.” Karsarath gestured to their small pile of bedrolls just a few feet away.

“Where are you going?” Kayin tried to be polite about it, mostly to temper the tensions. Dhekk eventually responded by lowering the longsword and taking a step back. Karsarath lifted his hand away from his sheath.

“I—I was coming here….”

“There are no sword tournaments in Ikan,” was Dhekk’s fast response. Before Karsarath could even continue. “Actually—the only nearby place that has tournaments is Urbana, and that’s that way.” He gestured to behind Karsarath and raised his blade again. “Who are you, really?” The stranger, already exhausted, just seemed annoyed, now, with a grimace and tense shoulders.

“I’m coming from Urbana.”

“Oh!” Kayin sounded. “We’re going to Urbana!”

Dhekk let out an exasperated sigh. “Please shut up.”

“Why did you leave Urbana?” Kayin continued. Maybe ignoring Dhekk was the best option. Pretending like he wasn’t there settled his heart more, made the stranger seem more comfortable and less defensive. Maybe that was the trick to being around Dhekk at all.

“Cigam never presented itself,” was Karsarath’s response. “Can’t buy a home without proof of Cigam.”

“Whoa,” sounded Kayin with raised brows. “Really? Is it like that everywhere?”

“Not here,” Dhekk answered, helpful for once. “Not Yatora.”

“Maybe I’ll just go to Yatora, then,” Karsarath muttered. “Live with my sister in that miserable place.” Kayin fell silent. And thankfully, so did Dhekk. The stranger leaned back on his heels, questioning them without words.

“Yatora’s gone,” Kayin said finally. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Gone?” Karsarath’s eyes jogged to the destruction of Ikan around them. Kayin watched him compare this sight to whatever the man imagined, his heart heavy. “Gone….”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Who was your sister?” Was. He knew that word hurt to hear. Karsarath’s tan skin faded to more of an ashy pale color.

“I—her name…. Danuli. She’s—older than me.” The name didn’t ring a bell, but Kayin didn’t know the names of the older people of Yatora very well. The names of the elders didn’t matter when he had the chance to know them. When he cared, the names deemed important enough to know were written in books.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Kayin.

“Thank you, I guess….” The man raised a hand to his dusty hair, swiping through it. “I haven’t seen her in—in so long. Not since she had her daughter.”

“Well—survivors went to Kunnu,” Kayin said weakly. “Maybe they did survive. I can’t imagine someone leaving a baby behind….” He couldn’t imagine a baby surviving either.

Karsarath shook his head. “Not a baby, maybe…maybe your age. Might even have a family of her own, now. I don’t know.”

“Oh.” There was a higher chance he knew who she was, then. “What was her name?”

“Dania.”